


Be good, Bill

by MALLR4TS



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Bullet wound, F/M, Fort Mercer, Gun Violence, M/M, Other, Sacrifice, u die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:08:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26719555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MALLR4TS/pseuds/MALLR4TS
Summary: You've sacrificed yourself to save your sweetheart, and Bill now has to live with that guilt and continue his life without your guidance.
Relationships: Bill Williamson/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	Be good, Bill

**Author's Note:**

> another tumblr request. god, im posting a lot of angst today ;-; 
> 
> Tumblr and Twitter are @MALLR4TS

You saw the glisten of the scope up on one of the shops in Rhodes, and without thinking, you pushed Bill to the ground, yourself falling on top of him. But the sound of gunfire echoed throughout the empty streets, and there was a sudden pain in your chest. 

As Bill stood back up, you rolled off him, your back hitting the dusty streets that slowly began turning red. Your eyes were on Bill the whole time, and you saw his face drop as he turned to pick you up, but quickly realized what had happened. 

Bill went to say something, but the sound of gunshots cut him off. He was quick to throw you over his shoulder and find cover, leaving the others to deal with the mess. He had his own mess to deal with.

"What you gone and done that for?" Bill began to sob as he laid you down against the cool bricks of one of the buildings. It was probably not cold, but on your back and the wound, it felt like ice. Everything did, your world was quickly fading as the lights began to darken. 

"It would have been you," you tell him. There's a strain to your voice, like someone's standing on your throat, and it definitely feels like someone is too. 

"It should have been me!" Bill snaps, though you know he doesn't mean to get angry with you. He's not, he's angry at himself, the situation, the bastard that shot you, everything. "You.." Bill starts to speak but his eyes trail south, looking at the hole in your chest. He wants to tell you that you'll be fine, but you both know you're not going to make it. 

"I love you," you tell him. His eyes snap back up to yours, tears pouring from them. He feels like it's all his fault, like he's the one who shot you. 

"Now, you... you don't..." Bill mutters. He wants to tell you not to say that because he can't bear to hear it for the last time. He never thought you'd leave this quickly. He always thought you'd be the one burying him, not the other way around. "I love you too," Bill says through thick sobs. 

His hands are holding yours, but they move so he can cradle you in his lap, sitting on the floor with his back facing the fight that's still happening along the street.

"I'm proud of you, Bill," you tell him as you look up at him, though your eyes feel so heavy. You want to shut them, but you're not ready to leave yet. 

"Don't you say that," Bill cries. 

"Why? I mean it," you reply. You try your hardest to move your hand up to cup his cheek, but everything feels so heavy, so cold, so dark. Bill notices your struggle and takes your hand in his, placing it exactly where you wanted. 

Despite the numbness in your limbs, you can faintly feel the roughness of his beard, and his smooth cheek as your thumb brushes over it. 

"Be good, Bill. Don't get into too much trouble," you tell him. You know what he's like. There's been far too many times that you've bailed him out of fights of all sorts, but without you around, you worry that he's only going to snap back into what he formerly was. 

"I won't," Bill pouts, holding your hand firmly against his cheek as he melts into your touch for the last time. 

Bill leans down to place a kiss on your forehead. As his lips touch your skin, your eyes fall shut. Bill realizes you're gone when he lifts his head back up, noticing the gentle smile on your face. The muscles in your arm relax, though Bill continues to hold your palm against his jawline. 

He doesn't notice the gunshots coming to a halt, or the sounds of familiar people approaching him, but he does feel the weight of Arthurs hand as he places it on his shoulder. 

Bill buries you by himself, rejecting the help the others offer. He wants some time alone, he needs some time alone. He spends the night by your grave, taking his time to carve your name and a little message underneath on the wooden headboard. 

His body is itching for a drink, but for once, he feels sick at the thought of it. He doesn't want to risk becoming like his father, forgetting about those he loves the most, and eventually losing himself in the liquor. He'd never risk losing the thoughts of you. So instead he pitches his tent and lingers beside you, Brown Jack nestled down beside him.

Bill goes over everything in his head: how you met, the moment the flirting started, how he felt when you first kissed, the way you looked at him when he told you he loves you for the first time. He allows himself to cry, mostly because he physically can't hold the tears in. 

He wants to feel like it's all his fault, but he can hear your voice telling him off for thinking that way. He's got to try and follow your teachings, to continue the path you were leading him down, even if your hand isn't physically in his anymore. 

Bill tried his best, he really did, but his mind became foggy the second you were taken from him. He fell back on his ways, this time sinking deeper than before. Bill's fueled by anger and spite, though he's still never touched a drop of alcohol, and at least he has that to be proud of. 

It's quiet for once. Fort Mercer feels empty, despite his men covering the inner walls, their voices echoing off the stone that surrounds them. Bill's up in his room, his feet up on the desk as he goes through some old mementos of his. 

John visited earlier. Well, not really visited. He came out of nowhere and tried to reason with Bill, but Bill stopped trusting him many years ago. He may be stupid, but he's not a fool. 

Bill just felt like he needed to go through his things. He wasn't scared of the encounter, but his heart was telling him to do so. He stores his stuff in a tatty old trunk in his room, one that was left here when the Fort was last in use. The items are now scattered on his desk, and Bill's going through them one at a time. 

He picks up an envelope with a small amount of thickness to it. Upon opening it, his heart drops. He knew he'd come across these sooner or later, but despite the sickly feeling growing in his stomach, he's glad he's looked over them again. 

They're photos from the camp that Arthur once took. He'd given the handful to you after getting them all developed. The photos are of you and Bill, all taken on different days over the months that had passed when the gang was out in the East. 

Bill can feel his bottom lip shaking, and he has to keep wiping the tears from his eyes so he can focus on you. You look so happy, and Bill wants to smack his former self from looking so grumpy all the time. There's a few that Arthur had taken in secret, where Bills trying his best to flirt with you but looking rathered flustered, and another where the two of you are cuddled up at the campfire.

Bill hasn't visited your grave in a long time. He rarely leaves Fort Mercer, and hasn't been that way in just over seven years. He wants to, he'd love to see your grave again, but he's so heavily wanted that he'd barely make it past Blackwater. He knows he'll probably see you soon, especially after what happened today. Bill knows his end is soon approaching, and he'll be reunited with you before the year is over.

He realizes that he's not felt much since you were taken from him. Sure, he's felt anger and sadness, but no happiness, no warmth or joy. Bill's become a hollow shell, numb and empty, fueled by those emotions that you managed to drown out of him all those years ago. 

He feels ashamed. Bill's let you down. When you left, you told him to be good, and he's been far from that. Bill realizes all the things he's done over the years, the chaos he's created and sickly enjoyed. He shouldn't have to rely on another person to fix him, but you began doing that without him realizing it. 

It's too late now. You're probably waiting at the gates of heaven to slap him for being such a fool when he arrives, though Bill knows he's going straight to hell, maybe even lower than that, if all that nonsense exists anyway. 

He still remembers the little message he carved onto your headboard all those years ago, a message that's stayed true to him every single day since. 

'My warmth disappeared when I lost you.'


End file.
